


Hot Chocolate

by lori (zakhad)



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geordi gets stuck in a lift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Chocolate

The lift halted. The doors didn't open.

"Computer, why are we stopping?"

  
Nothing. Not even the little non-op squeal of a computer with a migraine. Shit. This day had been bad from start to finish.

  
"Looks like we're stuck for some reason."

  
He turned to look at her. "So you're psychic?" he said wryly.

  
She raised one eyebrow and coolly said, "If you want me to leave, I'll just pop the access panel and make my way to my quarters through the jeffries tubes."

  
"I think we could stand being in the lift until it resumes, don't you? They'll fix it soon enough. Got to be a glitch -- Data's working on the computer today."

She sighed deeply -- the impatient sigh of a woman tolerating a man's nonsense. He hated that sigh.

"You don't have to like it. I'll just look at this wall, it probably likes me a lot more than you do." He turned his back on her and crossed his arms.

  
She shifted uncomfortably; he heard the rustle of fabric against fabric. Another, smaller sigh. Tired.

  
Rolling his shoulder, he realized he, too, was tired. Last night he'd been awake too long, thinking about the upcoming mission.

"Sore back?" Her question startled him.

"A little. . . . I went at it a little too hard in the holodeck the other day. I've been trying out a new program."

To his surprise, her fingers closed on his shoulders and her thumbs dug into the muscles. To his further surprise, she was good at it -- stronger than he'd expected.

"What program?"

"Tennis."

"What's that?"

"You have this racquet, and a ball about this big," he held out a cupped hand to demonstrate, "and you and an opponent hit the ball back and forth over a low net. If you want, you can do doubles -- two people per team. I did pretty well, beat the holo-opponent six games to love."

"Um. . . love?"

"That's what they call a score of zero in tennis."

She snorted. "I've heard a lot of definitions of love, but that takes the cake."

He enjoyed her shoulder rub for a few silent moments, then turned. "You sound like you could use one, too. Want me to? Turnabout's fair play, you know."

She turned around -- her muscles felt like wood. Working the kinks out took some doing. "Thank you," she sighed, tipping her head back. They were standing so close together that her hair brushed the front of his uniform. He caught a whiff of her perfume --

"Lily of the valley," he said, surprised.

"Yes. Beverly gave it to me. I really like it. I'm a little surprised, though, that you know what it is."

"My mom used to wear it. Look, I'm sorry about the little disagreement we had the other day. You were right, I was being too hard on that ensign."

"That's an understatement. But you've been under a lot of pressure, yourself. Our next mission -- "

"Don't remind me. I know. Got a lot of work to do before we get to Zythran Four. Too much work."

She turned her head slightly. It caught his attention, somehow more than it usually would have, and he thought that she was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and that the corner of her lips had turned upward. His hands slowly stopped, but he left them on her shoulders, gently, cautiously.

When she came around, she didn't back away. Didn't move aside. Placed herself almost against him, looking straight into his soul, he thought. For a long moment they regarded each other solemnly, questioningly, and she pressed her lips together, glancing down, then back up to meet his gaze once more.

"You have strong hands," she murmured. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Um, maybe we should. . . ."

Her hand on his arm silenced him. He imagined she could hear his pulse -- she slowly leaned, giving him plenty of time to move out of the way, and when their lips met, he thought he must be dreaming, and he'd wake up any second now. . . .

But he'd never had a dream about this. Never. Not in a million years would he have dreamed this.

Soft. It'd been a while, since he'd had a woman kiss him. She seemed sure of herself, so he tried a touch -- her arms were a safe bet. Soon his hands had traveled to her back, and hers made their way up the back of his neck -- oh, she was good at this, and --

Suddenly she sprang away from him, making it across the lift in a single backward bound, shaking herself and putting her hands behind her back. He realized, after a flash of anger, that she'd sensed someone coming, and as the lift door opened he realized further that the glitch must have been a momentary lag in the computer's reaction rather than getting them stuck in between decks -- whipping his arms behind his back, he came to attention, then let himself relax, just a little --

The captain strode into the lift, stopped, and looked at the two of them standing there. Raising an eyebrow, he faced forward. "Bridge."

The lift started to move.

He felt like a fool. The whole time, sitting right there on deck fifteen, they could've left the lift. He glanced past Picard's bald head at her, risking it --

She was smiling. Damn her. Smiling like she had a glorious secret to keep.

Come to think of it. . . so did he.

As the lift halted again, the doors didn't open. Picard sighed and turned to him. "Commander, would you see to it that the lifts get some attention? This is ridiculous, this is the second time -- there seems to be something the matter with them. Doors won't open on arrival, and the audio relays don't appear to be working."

"Possibly some leftover glitches from when the Binars were aboard, sir. I'll see to it."

"Thank you." Picard took a step, the doors opened, and he paused on the threshold. "Oh, and I'd appreciate your preliminary report on the upgrade we're doing on the Zythran colonists' power plant?"

"Of course, sir."

Picard glanced at them one last time, apparently puzzled that they'd been riding the whole way to the bridge and now weren't leaving -- the lift hadn't stopped to let them off anywhere along the way. Then he got out and let the door shut.

"Deck seven," he said.

"My place or yours?"

He looked at her, took in her smile, and started to smile himself. "If we go to yours, are we going to drink hot chocolate?"

Her smile got bigger. She grinned at him until the lift stopped and the doors opened. In a tone of voice he'd never heard her use before, one that made certain parts of the male anatomy pay close attention, she said, "Geordi -- you **are** hot chocolate. See you after shift."

She departed, leaving him in the lift. He stood for a moment, then realized he could stand there all day grinning that way, or get back to work. And work would make time pass more quickly.

"Deck fifteen."

It wasn't such a bad day, after all.


End file.
